Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (17 page)

Nicole jerked awake, that awful disorientation causing her head to spin. She blinked, her gaze sliding around the darkened room, her pulse beating heavy in her throat as the disorientation slid away.

But the fear, the embarrassment and shame, stayed with her. She rested her head against the thin pillow and pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders. The terrible chills, the burning flashes of fever, seemed to be gone. But the sterile air brushing across her arms chilled her, raising bumps along her flesh.

Was she feeling better? Maybe. Or maybe she was just kidding herself. She was tired. Tired and drained. And thirsty.

She turned her head to the side, looking for a glass of water, and felt her pulse kick up even higher. Mat was in the room with her, his large body folded in the small plastic chair. His arm was stretched out along the mattress, his head resting against it. His hand was loosely curled, so close to hers. Like he had been holding her hand, or reaching for her.

Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them back. Why was he here? He should be home, sound asleep in his large bed, curled under the soft warmth of the downy comforter. Not folded into a hard plastic chair that was too small for him, too hard and uncomfortable.

Why was here?

Nicole moved her hand, tempted to reach out and run her fingers through the thick softness of his dark hair, to brush the hair off his forehead. She wanted to stroke his cheek and see if the thick stubble that covered his jaw would tickle her palm with softness, or if would be sharp and prickly instead.

But she couldn't do any of that so she curled her fingers into a fist and moved her hand to her lap, away from temptation. No, she couldn't touch him. But she could watch him.

She had heard men referred to as beautiful but she had never seen one who could be called that. Not until Mat. He was beautiful in the same way the ancient sculptures she'd seen pictures of were beautiful. Hard, rugged, all sharp lines and curves. Chiseled. Yes, chiseled was the perfect word to describe him.

Her eyes drifted down to his hand, loosely curled near her leg. Such strong beautiful hands, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. A faint dusting of hair covered the backs of his hands, lighter than the hair on his head. Even his wrists and forearms strong, each line of muscle so clearly defined.

Strong hands, but gentle, too. So gentle, always careful. She couldn't imagine that his hands would ever be raised in anger.

And God, now she was just being silly, placing importance on things she shouldn't be, getting worked up over nothing. She shouldn't be comparing, had no right to compare. Yes, she could appreciate them, marvel at their strength and photograph them—

Nicole sat up, her breath leaving in a rush. Mat jerked awake, his eyes immediately focused on her, concern flashing in his eyes and radiating from the stiff lines of his body. He reached out and took her hand in his, gently squeezed it.

"Nicole? Are you okay? What is it?"

"My camera. Oh my God, where's my camera? The pictures—" She couldn't even say it, couldn't put her fear into words. Mat just looked at her, his concern turning to confusion.

"Nicole, it's okay. Don't worry. Your camera's at my house. Nobody is going to touch it."

"No, you don't understand. It's not the camera. It's the pictures. The pictures I took. From the other night. I didn't erase them—"

"Shh. Nicole, it's okay." He stood from the chair and moved closer, resting his hip on the edge of the mattress next to hers. He leaned forward and brushed the hair from her face then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Nobody is going to touch your camera. It's fine."

"But—"

"It's okay, baby. I promise. Nobody will see the pictures."

Nicole watched him, not understanding how he could be so calm. She finally eased back against the pillow, chewing on her lower lip as she looked over his shoulder, not quite able to meet his gaze.

"How are you feeling?" He ran the back of his free hand along her cheek and down to her neck. "I think the fever is gone. How's the arm? Better?"

"I—" Nicole swallowed, still unable to look at him. "Yeah. Yes, better."

"Good." He sat back, scooting a little closer on the bed, his thigh flush against hers. He adjusted the hold on her hand, threading their fingers together before raising their joined hands to his mouth. He dropped a kiss on the back of her knuckles, his lips soft and tender. So tender.

How could such a large man be so gentle? And why? Why would a man like him, a man who had everything, worry about her? Men like him didn't exist, not in her world. Tears came to her eyes and she blinked them back, not wanting Mat to see them.

Silence hung between them, thick and expectant. She waited, afraid Mat would ask questions, questions she didn't want to answer about things she'd rather pretend didn't exist. Her discomfort and anxiety grew as the minutes stretched between them but the questions didn't come.

Mat dropped their hands to his lap, his thumb rubbing gentle circles along her knuckles. She took a deep breath, working up the courage to look at him, afraid of what she'd see in his eyes. Pity. Anger maybe. Condemnation.

But all she saw was worry and relief and concern. And something else, something that warmed her and confused her and scared her all at the same time. How could he look at her like that? She didn't understand.

"You had me worried, you know? This morning. I—I didn't know what had happened, wasn't sure what to do."

"I'm sorry." And what a stupid thing to say. Empty words that meant nothing about something she couldn't control. Mat sat back, his brows lowering in a brief frown.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything."

"I know. I mean—" What did she mean? She didn't know. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Mat laughed, the sound a short burst of noise that lacked any real amusement. He squeezed her hand, one corner of his mouth curling in a brief smile. "Yeah, I didn't think you did it on purpose. But you still freaked me out a bit."

"Why?" And oh God, why did she have to keep opening her mouth? She closed her eyes, wishing sleep would claim her. But she was wide awake, more awake than she wanted.

"Why?" Mat repeated the question. She could feel him watching her, feel the penetrating gaze of those deep green eyes. But she didn't want to see them, couldn't bring herself to look at him. She felt him shift, felt the heat of his body as he leaned closer to her. "Nicole, look at me."

She wanted to say no. Wanted to shake her head or feign sleep or just ignore him. But she couldn't, not when he said her name in his low voice, not when his breath whispered across her skin. She took a deep breath for courage and opened her eyes. Mat's face was inches from hers, his gaze never wavering as he watched her.

"Because I care about you, that's why."

"But you can't. You don't even know me."

"I know enough."

The answer scared her, because if their situations were reversed, she'd say the same thing. She knew enough. But how was that even possible? They didn't know each other, not really.

"But you don't. You just met me."

"Well, not really." He smiled again, that charming boyish smile that sent shivers of warmth through her. "Technically it's been almost two months."

A smile tugged at her lips at his attempt at humor. She opened her mouth, ready to correct his math, to tell him it had been more like six weeks, not two months. But she started crying instead, deep sobs that racked her body. She closed her eyes, mortified. Tried to pull away, to curl up into a ball when he called her name.

But he wouldn't let her.

Strong arms closed around her, pulling her close, holding her. And she kept crying, she couldn't stop, her tears soaking the front of his shirt, her shoulders shaking with the force of each sob. And he just sat there, holding her, his hands rubbing gentle circles along her back as he murmured soft words of reassurance in her ear.

Telling her it was going to be okay.

Reassuring her that she was safe.

Telling her that nobody would hurt her again, telling her he was there for her.

She wanted to believe him. As they sat there in the darkened room, with his arms around her as she cried senseless tears, she wanted to believe him. With all her heart. But she was afraid to, afraid to trust his words, afraid to trust what she felt.

How could she, when she knew that dragons weren't real?

Mat circled the block, his eyes searching for a parking space close to Nicole's home. He reached the corner, ready to make the turn to go around once more, thinking he'd just double-park if he had to. But Nicole tensed beside him, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

"You can just let me out here, that's okay."

"I'm not just dropping you off. I told you that already." He had, at least a dozen times since this morning, when they had started the discharge proceedings. Neither one of them had expected it to take so long, not with all the paperwork and forms and instructions. They were both tired and drained, and a headache was starting to form at the base of his neck. Nicole had to be feeling worse, after everything that happened the last two days. She hadn't said anything, not even a whimper of complaint, but Mat knew she was exhausted. Her complexion was too pale and there were smudges under her eyes. She needed sleep. And food. And uninterrupted rest away from any stress or worries.

He didn't want to drop her off here. Not just at the corner—he didn't want to leave her here, at her house, period. His protective instincts had been in high-gear since yesterday morning and they were only getting stronger. Was it a gut-feeling telling him something was wrong, or something more? He had no idea, but he wasn't going to second-guess himself, not on this.

But Nicole didn't want to listen to him. She had it in her head that she was going to go home—to her mother's house—and that everything would be fine. A stubborn streak had emerged in her and it was only getting stronger. Had it always been there? Probably. Any other time he would have admired it, but not now. Not where her health was concerned. Not just her health; her safety, too, whether she realized it or not.

Or maybe he really was overreacting, his instincts screaming for all the wrong reasons. No, not for the wrong reasons—for the right ones. Because no matter how little sense it made, no matter how foolish it sounded, Mat was pretty sure he was falling in love with her. He shouldn't be, not when they hadn't known each other that long, not when they hadn't spent that much time together.

But he knew his own heart, knew what he wanted. And he knew what he was feeling. He realized it last night, as Nicole cried in his arms, as he held her and comforted her, as she curled close to him and fell asleep in his arms, murmuring something about dragons not being real.

He circled the block, finally just double-parking in front of the weathered rowhome that was her mother's house. He cut the ignition but didn't make a move to get out. Neither one of them did.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other. Mat's hands clenched the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead, his mind racing. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.

"I really think you should come home with me." It wasn't a question, more like a plea. But Nicole shook her head and he already knew what she was going to say.

The same thing she'd said the last hundred times he had suggested it.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just—I can't, Mat. You've already done enough. I can't just…" Her voice drifted off and she shook her head again. He watched her from the corner of his eye, saw her lips purse and her brows lower into a frown. Was she reconsidering? Having second thoughts? Or trying to talk herself out of saying yes?

Mat didn't want to push, afraid of scaring her, afraid of sounding like he was trying to control her. She didn't need that, which was something he completely understood. Probably too much, after the last thirty-some hours.

"I'm worried about you."

"I know. I'll be fine."

Mat wanted to argue but he bit back the words instead. He sighed, the sound ringing like defeat in his ears, then reached for the door handle. "I'll walk you in."

"You don't have to—"

"You're not the only one who can be stubborn." He fixed her with a steady gaze, letting her know he wasn't budging on this. She met his gaze straight-on, showing him another glimpse of her stubborn streak. Then she finally looked away, nodding.

He got out and hurried around to the other side, holding the door open for her and offering her his hand. She looked like she wanted to refuse then gave in with a weary sigh. Her hand was still chilled, a little damp and shaky. She needed to get inside, get some food, take her medication and lie down.

Mat grabbed her backpack and slung it over his shoulder, then led her to the door, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Her body stiffened when they reached the top step and he knew she was going to argue again, tell him he didn't need to come inside. He gave her a stern look and shook his head.

"I don't want to hear it. I'm making sure you get inside okay, making sure you do what the doctor said you were supposed to do. I'm not budging on this, Nicole, so you may as well give up now."

He expected to hear her argue, expected to see a flash of stubbornness in her eyes and the set of her chin. Instead he saw wariness and embarrassment. His heart skipped, twisting a little in his chest at the look in her eyes.

Mat reached up and cupped the side of her face, brushed his thumb along her lower lip. "Nicole, all I care about is you. Not your house, not what it looks like. None of it. Just you. Please don't shut me out. Okay?"

She chewed on her lip, like she wasn't sure if she should believe him or not. But she must have seen something in his eyes, or maybe it was just the words he spoke, because she slowly nodded and opened the door.

The interior was dim, cloaked in depressing gray light. The linoleum floor in the entranceway was cracked and stained, the edges curling away from the wall and the base of the worn stairs. His gaze drifted to the living room, to the mismatched sofa and chairs covered in tattered sheets. Magazines and dirty dishes littered the table and floor. Cigarette butts floated in a few dirty glasses, like someone had used them for ashtrays.

Mat forced his face to remain expressionless, forced his body to remain relaxed. Not an easy task when all he wanted to do was pick up Nicole and take her back out to his car and drive, not stopping until they reached his house.

He felt her eyes on him, knew she was watching, waiting for some kind of reaction. He smiled, letting her know everything was fine, that nothing had changed his opinion or how he felt.

He motioned to the steps ahead of them. "Is your room upstairs?"

She looked away, a flush spreading across her pale cheeks. "Yeah, but you don't—"

"Nikki? Is that you?"

A voice called from somewhere in the back of the house, beyond the living room. Nicole jumped, the flush on her cheeks deepening, a harsh red against her pale skin. Her body stiffened and she threw a panicked look at Mat, her eyes wide. He grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together, offering her support. Her fingers were like ice, stiff in his hold despite their shaking. Tension thrummed though her, rolling off her in oppressive waves.

He squeezed her hand then brought it to his mouth, brushing a quick kiss along her knuckles. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Yeah. Fine."

"Nikki?" The voice was closer now. A raspy smoker's voice, rough and abrasive. Mat turned as a woman walked into the room, her attention focused on lighting the cigarette hanging from pale dry lips. "Where have you been all night? You were supposed to be bringing dinner home—"

The woman stopped, her glassy eyes settling on Mat. Her gaze raked him from head to toe, judging him, sizing him up. She dropped a lighter into the pocket of her tattered robe, her eyes never leaving him. Then she took a long drag of the cigarette, its tip glowing as red as the flash of speculation in her eyes when she noticed their clasped hands.

"Who's this?"

Nicole shot him a look of apology before gently pulling her hand from his and turning back to her mother. "This is Mat. He—"

"So where were you? Did you stop to get any food?"

"Mom, I was at the hospital. I—"

"Yeah?" Her mother took another deep drag from the cigarette, her eyes raking Nicole this time. "What happened?"

"It was an infection. In my arm—"

"She was assaulted." The words came out clipped, cold. Mat didn't care, not when his anger was so close to the surface. He watched, waiting for her mother's reaction, thinking he'd see…something. Concern or worry or outrage. Something.

But all he saw was impatience and disbelief. Her gaze skimmed over him then shot back to Nicole.

"Assault? What happened?"

"Nothing—"

"No, not
nothing
." Maybe Mat was overstepping bounds, but he wouldn't let Nicole brush this away or downplay it. "Her ex-husband attacked her and shredded her arm so bad it became infected."

"You're saying Donnie did this?" Her mother frowned then looked away from Mat, her attention completely focused on Nicole. She took another long drag and blew the heavy stream of smoke in their direction. "What did you do to upset him this time, Nikki?"

"Excuse me?" The curt words fell from his mouth before he could stop them, before he even realized he was going to say anything. Had he heard her mother right? Was she really blaming Nicole for what happened? What kind of fucked-up twisted reasoning was that? "Maybe you didn't hear—"

Nicole reached for his arm, her hand shaking. "Mat, don't. Please. It's not worth it."

"But—" Mat didn't get a chance to finish because Nicole's mother kept on talking, acting like he wasn't even there.

"Well, I'm sure whatever you did, he's forgiven you. He came by last night, looking for you."

Nicole's hand tightened around his arm, squeezing, like a floundering ship that tossed an anchor overboard in order to stop and right itself. Her face paled, the color completely draining.

"Donnie was here? Again?"

Her mother nodded then lowered herself to the sofa. Ashes fell from the cigarette and landed in her lap but she barely looked at them, just brushed them off with a careless swipe of her hand. "Yeah. He waited around a while but you never showed up."

"Oh God. He was here? In the house?"

"Of course. You didn't think I'd make him wait outside, did you? I told him he could wait upstairs."

"Mom, no! Oh God, please no. He was in my room? You let him in my room?" Desperation was clear in her voice, in the tremors shooting through her. She turned and ran up the stairs, stumbling, saying "No" over and over again.

Mat didn't hesitate, just took off after her, the stairs creaking under his weight as he rushed up them. He caught himself, skidding to a stop before running into Nicole.

She stood just inside a tiny room, her shoulders slumped, her head hung low. "Oh God, no. No, no, no."

"Nicole, what is it?" Stupid question. Even from where he was standing, he could see what was wrong. A makeshift desk, nothing more than a piece of plywood propped on old plastic milk cartons, had been placed under a small dirty window. Pieces of a shattered laptop were strewn across the desk, along with broken pens and shredded strips of paper. The bed had been stripped, the sheets and blanket tossed in a pile on the stained floor. The mattress had been pulled from the bed and now rested at a crazy angle against the box spring.

Mat's fists clenched, anger searing his veins as he surveyed the destruction. Deliberate, malicious. His gaze stopped at the vile word hastily scrawled on the wall where a picture had once hung.

BITCH.

How could someone do something like this? What would possess someone to do something like this? Destruction like this, so deliberate and malicious and personal, was so far out of Mat's experience, he didn't know how to react.

But this wasn't about him, it was about Nicole. How she was reacting, what she must be thinking and feeling. He pushed back the anger, the sudden burning need for retribution. None of that would help Nicole. Not now. He stepped forward, ready to wrap his arms around her, ready to tell her things would be okay even though he knew they wouldn't. But she moved away, her breathing harsh as she hurried to the small closet.

She dropped to her knees, pulling things from the closet and throwing them carelessly behind her. Each short movement was choppy, desperate. Her fingers scratched against the floor, digging. Searching.  

"Please. Please. Please."

Mat wanted to help her, wanted to ask what she needed, what she was looking for, but he didn't know if he should. He wasn't sure if she even knew he was there. He took a step into the room, one more—then stopped when she let out a small scream.

He didn't hesitate, just dropped to the floor behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "Nicole, what is it? What's wrong?"

"It's gone. All of it."

"What's gone?"

She laughed, the sound short and almost hysterical. She held up the box in her hand, one of those small metal cash boxes with a flimsy lock. The lock had been broken and the lid hung at an odd angle, one of the hinges busted. The box was empty.

"My money. All of it. Gone."

"Nicole—"

But she wasn't listening. Another short cry, more hysterical than the first, escaped her. She dropped the box and reached deeper into the closet, digging. A sigh of relief, too loud, echoed around him as she emerged with another metal box hugged to her chest. This one was thicker and sturdier than the first, similar to a security box of some sort.